


Stars and Stripes Forever

by obsidiangrey



Series: States 'Verse [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (kinda), Gen, Historical Hetalia, Identity Reveal, i'm not tagging all of the states that'd be ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidiangrey/pseuds/obsidiangrey
Summary: America, out of fear that they might be hurt, never told anyone about his children: the United States. Thing is, when America gets sick, someone still has to fill in for him at the conference in DC, and it isn't going to be a human. The Nations get snobbish about that kind of thing. A better idea would be to have Washington District herself go instead. Theredefinitelywon't be any backlash from that.





	1. Chapter 1

“ _You have to be joking.”_

The voice of Washington, District of Columbia was flat, and it was impossible to discern any sort of emotion from her words. She was good at that kind of thing, with all she dealt in politics.

The huddle of children and teenagers around a cell phone on speaker placed in the middle of a long table was silent for a moment (an unusual occurrence, as they were a normally loud and boisterous group), shifting uneasily, and then a boy closer to the cell sighed, slumping back in his chair.

“Hey, Pa's sick,” said the state of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, spreading his hands out in a helpless gesture. “Nations are all in D.C., which I'm sure you noticed, so we can't call the meeting off, and we send one of our suits and they'll get mocked out of the conference.”

“ _And you couldn't have called sooner?”_ Her voice was still flat.

“It's not like we _knew_ Pa was gonna get sick,” Delaware hurried to say. “You know how he gets, Abby, he works too much.”

“ _When he actually decides to work.”_ A long sigh. _“Fine. Is there any explanation you want me to give, or should I just make one up?”_

“You're being sarcastic.” Massachusetts cringed. “That means you're annoyed.”

“ _With Congress, not with you. Unrelated. Answer?”_

“Just tell them that under the Constitution, states are not allowed to make alliances with foreign powers as individuals, and therefore because we had no place on the international stage there was no reason for the national personifications to have any dealings with us or know of our existence.” Virginia's words were smooth and precise, and she smiled in return to Maryland's grin.

“ _Bit of a paraphrase, but sound logic.”_

“Also, Louis's gonna be coming down to help out!” the state of Washington called from nearly the opposite end of the table. “Says he's bored and hasn't been out of the house in months.”

“ _Louis? But--”_

“Pa's trying to pack luggage!” Tennessee came skidding around the door, sliding on the wood floor and almost overbalancing into Kentucky. “Ohio and Louisiana are making sure he doesn't pass out, 'cause he's insisting he's fine, and they want help getting him back into bed.”

There was a flurry of movement, and New York leaned over to shout towards the phone as everyone started to speak at once. “Anyway, thanks for doing this, Abby! Love you bunches.”

“ _Steven, don't you hang up, I--”_

* * *

More than five hundred miles to the south, a young woman, no more than eighteen, stood in the living room of her house and stared at her phone, more than a little bit annoyed.

“How enlightening,” she finally said, and proceeded to dial a new number and placed the phone back to her ear. “Hello, sir? This is Washington District. There's been a change in agenda regarding tomorrow's conference...”

* * *

* * *

_July 6, 1776_

“No!”

There was a small house in Philadelphia, located not far from the Philadelphia Meeting Hall. Inside lived a small group of children; a boy with blond hair and eyes like the sky, eight young girls, and five other young boys. They were hardly similar but for their ages, all varying heights, different hair and different accents from up and down the coast of British America; the single characteristic all fourteen of them shared was their eyes, the same shape and shade of blue.

They also shared a propensity for fighting, but that was aside the point.

“Why are you so _argumentative_?”

“Big word, coming from you.”

“You're acting like I'm from New England, all I'm saying is--”

“ _Excuse_ me?!"

“ _Be quiet_!”

The room went silent, and thirteen pairs of eyes fixed themselves onto the tired-looking figure at the front of the room.

“Listen,” the newly-christened United States of America said, running his fingers back through his hair with a tense kind of frustration. “We aren't debating over this. This is an _executive_ decision I am making. No foreign power is going to know of your existence until the war against Great Britain is over, and that includes any foreign powers we may ally ourselves with.”

“Why?” Massachusetts asked, gripping a cane tightly in his hands; the siege at Boston had not been kind to the young colony.New York, sitting in the chair next to him, was doing little better with New York City currently under fire.

“Because, as much as I think we're capable of winning, as much as I _want_ us to win this, we might not!” He looked even more exhausted once the words had finally been spoken. “And then what? King George and England want to crush us under their heel. If General Washington loses to Howe and the Hessians, the country is going to be overrun, and if England knows about you he _will_ hurt you. I can't let him do that. I won't see you hurt.”

There was silence in the room for several moments, and then Rhode Island, wearing a tattered militia uniform, hobbled over to their father's side. “We can look out for ourselves, Pa, don't you forget it.”

“But we _do_ see what you're sayin',” Georgia added softly, sitting in the far back of the room, estranged from her southern sisters over something as trivial as the color of her skin. “We won't say nothin', Pa, not until we've won this, and maybe not then, either.”


	2. Chapter 2

Louisiana grinned at his older family member; though the United States, the nation's capital, and the various territories all shared a common relation through their father, they didn't all consider themselves siblings. There was no true biological relation between them. All they shared were the characteristics of pseudo-immortality and an eye color, and some of the States who had close relationships called one another brother or sister-- or partner, or in the cases of some, _husband_ or _wife_. The Carolinas and the Dakotas were twins; West Virginia strongly resembled Virginia as though they were siblings, but considered her something more of a mother. Hawaii was closer to the Kingdom of Hawaii, who raised him on their shared islands, and Alaska, with whom he shared a distance to the rest of the continental forty-eight, than he was with anyone on the mainland.

Washington District looked down at him and sighed. “Is it really that bad?”

The grin faltered, dimmed. “Well... it isn't because of anything specific. I think he's just been working too hard, and all the normal things caught up with him at once. You know, the debt, and the oil spill, and half the country's on fire while the other half is underwater, and the debt, and...”

“Mm.” She grimaced. “Yes, I'm aware. How was he when you left?”

“Sleeping. We kept Elizabeth from making soup by sending her to get groceries, but then Robert might have tried to help with the food, so?”

Despite no relation to England-- despite never having  _met_ the personification-- there were some things that could evidently be inherited. Like the ability to destroy any food or food-related object within a given radius without even trying.

“...He might get worse because you gave him food poisoning.”

“Abby, we would _know_ if they'd had too big a part in it.”

“Christmas of '79?”

The grin dropped completely, and Louisiana shuddered. “Don't remind me of it.”

Washington District shrugged. “Just pointing it out. Normally I would walk, but we can drive down to the meeting center, if you'd prefer?”

“Please.”

The state of Louisiana was represented by a young boy of about sixteen, who today was wearing a suit in preparation for the meeting ahead. His hair was light brown and curly, pulled back into a low ponytail; otherwise it would fall just past his shoulders. His skin was of a similar coloring, spattered with freckles, but he shared his father's eyes with the rest of their odd family, and he had walked with a cane for a number of years, now-- though he was no longer wheelchair-bound, the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina had not been especially kind to him, even close to a decade later.

In contrast, Washington District had been told that she resembled a very young George Washington by the handful of States who had met the man. She was already tall, slender, and her propensity for wearing heels only served to make her taller still; to her, it was more about intimidation tactics than a sense of style. Her hair was auburn and wavy, and she shared her family's eyes, and she was rarely seen as anything other than put-together. The capital was created to become the home of the government; politics were quite literally what she was born for, and she looked the part. Centuries of dealing with arguing leaders and being called upon as a neutral third party gave her an utterly expressionless face and a near-unflappable calm, but her temper was rather terrifying when finally roused.

The pair walked out from her house, a small place tucked away in a row of identical houses crushed side to side, and down to the car. It wasn't the place which one would expect a personification to live, but it had been the location of a home some of the States, the capital, and America had shared more than a hundred and fifty years ago, and it was within walking distance of the places that Washington District most often worked at – the Capitol Building, the White House, to name a couple. Granted, it was a much longer walk than most would prefer, and Louisiana knew his limits, and so they went straight from the house to the car parked on the street in front of it, getting inside.

But Washington District made no move to start the car when they were settled inside, keys in her hand and hands folded in her lap, staring at the steering wheel with, as always, a blank expression.

Louisiana glanced over. “...Everything okay, Abby?”

There was a long pause, until he wondered whether or not she was even going to bother to answer, until--

“England will be there.” Her voice was flat, mostly toneless, but her fingers tightened minutely around the keys. “And I don't _care_ about him or his opinion; it's politics, and I can handle politics. I've certainly handled worse than him. I can play nice. Yet...”

“He's still there,” Louisiana finished with a sigh. She was sitting to the right of him, and so he could look at her in profile, see the burn scars across the side of her face and neck, disappearing underneath her collar. He couldn't see the rest, covered by her clothing, but he knew they were there, and he remembered how they came to be. Too young to live on his own following the Louisiana Purchase, he'd been staying in the capital in 1814. “I get it.”

Neither of them said anything for several more moments, and then Washington District straightened and turned the keys in the ignition, starting the car. “Well, the meeting certainly isn't going to run itself.”

* * *

The meeting room was loud.

Washington District surveyed the room before them, briefcase in one hand; it certainly wasn't as bad as the Congressional meetings which the States held on an annual basis, but there were a number of different conversations in a number of different languages and loud laughter and not-quite-arguments. There was a single chair up towards the front of the room, by the head of the table-- presumably, the chair where America would sit, had he been able to attend. However, there were two of them, and thus another chair would need to be found.

“I can go and find an extra chair for you, bring it back,” Washington District suggested after a moment of consideration. "It would be easier for me to carry it."

Louisiana turned to look at her, aghast. “You want to leave me to _that_ all alone?”

“I can think of five family meetings off the top of my head that were worse. And three congressional sessions.”

“That doesn't make this any _better_ \--”

“Lou Jones?” The incredulity of the sudden voice faded into a sharp, hissing kind of laugh, and the former Nation of Prussia clapped his hands together with something like glee. He was standing slightly off to the side, and his attention had been previously occupied by the camera app on his phone, where he had been recording some of the more ridiculous occurrences before them. Now he looked at the two of them with a grin. “And Abigail, _schatzi_! Where's America, tagging along later?”

“Sick.” Washington District sighed. “We're here in an... official capacity, for once.”

His eyes widened. “Please let me film this. Please. I'll have blackmail against England for _years_.”

Intentional or no-- likely _yes_ , as Prussia was a Nation who deliberately played up his personality so people would underestimate his intelligence, and tactics had always been one of his specialties-- mentioning England was all he needed to do for Washington District to agree; her lips twitched ever-so-slightly in what _might_ have been a smile, too quick to tell. “I can turn a blind eye.”

And she strode off into the chaos. Louisiana waited until she was out of earshot to speak.

“Send me a copy?”

“Hell yeah.”

Further down, Canada nearly choked on a swallow of water as Washington District took the seat next to him. He glanced around, but no one was paying them any attention-- all they saw was a government representative in America's seat as opposed to America himself, and she was therefore beneath their notice.

“Abby?” he asked. "Why...?"

“Sick,” she repeated, much in the same way that she had answered Prussia. Canada thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

“And you're...?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” He sat back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. “Well. Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, some of the Nations know the States by name-- that'll be explained later. The majority are still in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

_February 23, 1778  
_ _Valley Forge, Pennsylvania_

They weren't doing much of anything. It was a frigid day, overcast and windy, and the Continentals were either trying to start a fire or hunting for food. Rhode Island and Massachusetts were huddled up against the inside of a wooden hut with several other soldiers, and inside they were at least protected from the wind; still, being personifications, they were more than aware that they could not stay dead. This hut was one of the last to go up, and this hut was the first one they had stayed in for the entire winter. The rest had been spent exposed to the elements, bundled together for warmth.

Massachusetts, though he hated the cold, was at least used to the harsh winters, but neither of them had done especially _well_. Even now, though inside, they were still cold and tired and hungry, and Rhode Island had eaten the last of the leather scraps that had comprised of his boots almost a week ago.

“Hey, Rogue!” Benjamin shouted from outside. The sound of footsteps followed his voice, and the door opened not long after. He was breathing heavily like he had been running, cheeks flushed from cold. “Rogue, gotta head off t'speak with the General! You too, Pat, gotta go. Bets it's another message again.”

“Bring back food,” one of the other soldiers piped up.

“And an ax!” added another.

For much of the winter, there had been precisely one ax among the entire army. It made for quite a bit of difficulty.

Benjamin scurried off, and Massachusetts got to his feet, slinging an arm around his brother's waist. “Never mind food, we're getting you some shoes.”

Rhode Island nodded, breath puffing in the cold air. His feet were tied in scraps of cloth, the visible skin bone-white, starting to turn blue. “Please.”

The officers and, of course, General Washington, had houses to stay in, beds to sleep in, hot food to eat. The two soldiers shuffled along through the mud and snow; about halfway there, Massachusetts mumbled something under his breath that might have been a curse and motioned for his brother to climb onto his back. There was a brief skirmish between Rhode Island's pride and Rhode Island's sensibility, with sensibility winning in the end, and he climbed up, only getting back down when they reached the door. The two ragged boys were escorted to a room with a blazing fire and were promptly handed bowls of steaming broth.

“Thanks, Billy Lee,” Rhode Island remembered to say before wolfing down the dish.

The slave smiled at him; both colonies couldn't help but wonder, when the war was over, if those like Billy Lee would be free the same as them. “Eat, eat,” he urged. “There'll be more if you want.” He pointed to a bell on the wall. “Ring, I'll come with more.” Then he left, and the two were alone for a moment. Neither spoke, too intent on finishing the first substantial meal they had eaten in several months, so they actually missed the entrance of the General and his staff.

Massachusetts' eyes went wide at about the same time as Rhode Island's, and they sprang to attention, shoving their bowls aside.

“At ease, gentlemen,” General Washington said, not quite _kind_ , but something that might have come close to it. “By all means, continue.”

Hesitantly, they sat back down after the General had done the same himself. Most of the other men went to consult over a map, but a fourth man joined the group sitting, one Rhode Island did not recognize. His skin was pale, and his hair was white (though he didn't look old), and his eyes were _red_.

Massachuetts, reminded of Salem and nooses tied from rope, went very still.

“The Baron von Steuben has volunteered to train our army. Sir Beilschmidt, as _representative_ of the sovereign nation of Prussia, will be taking on your training in particular.” There was a light in his eye, and a particular emphasis on the word 'representative.' Rhode Island had never precisely told General Washington that he was the state of Rhode Island, but he got the feeling that the man knew – and that was why he was used as a courier, far away from the front lines. This stranger was probably Prussia himself.

Yes, they could feel the tug in the air. Something _other_ than the humans in the room. Rhode Island felt goosebumps crawling up his arms unrelated to the cold.

“Yes, sir,” he said in quick agreement.

“Yes, sir,” Massachusetts said an instant later.

“You will report here in the schedule given to you, and you will drill with the other men in your regiment,” General Washington told them. “Time permitting, Private Jones--” He looked at Rhode Island. “--I have another message to be delivered.” He stood to his full height. “See me when you are done.” He then departed to consult with his staff, leaving Prussia to look at them with narrowed eyes.

“There are two of you,” he said, his accent thick and difficult for Rhode Island to decipher. “Why?”

_No foreign power is going to know of your existence._

Massachusetts still looked uncomfortable, Puritan upbringing making his mind rise up in terror at the unusual appearance of the other. Rhode Island chewed on his lip for a moment. “We're not America, sir.” Prussia's eyes narrowed further. “State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, sir, at your service.” When Massachusetts didn't add anything, Rhode Island kicked him.

“...State of Massachusetts. Sir.”

For a moment, Prussia actually looked surprised. “ _Staaten_.” Then he threw back his head and laughed, a sharp hissing noise that made both boys jump, startled. “England has _no idea_! How many? _Dreizen_?”

The word was unfamiliar. “Thirteen. Sir. Thirteen, sir.” Rhode Island nodded. “And Pa.”

There was Massachusetts' younger sibling of Maine, and Vermont, in New Hampshire's care, and others still aside, but it felt as though he was telling too much already.

“ _Deine Vater?_ Eh-- your father? _Amerika_?”

“Yessir,” Massachusetts finally spoke up.

“Are all of you so tiny?”

Rhode Island jutted out his chin. “Fancy empire, you are. I'm not much land, but I got this far, I did!”

Nathaniel Greene, overhearing, looked scandalized. So did Massachusetts.

Prussia just grinned with a predatory amusement. “Hang onto that fight, kid. You'll need it if you want to _win_.”

* * *

 _August 24, 1814  
_ _Washington, District of Columbia_

His brother looked desperate; his hands were slick with sweat as he gripped the bayonet rifle to keep it level, to keep it from shaking.

“Canada-- _Matthew_. Please. Please, just--”

There was blood on his brother's shirt. It was dark, and smoke from burning buildings clogged the air. He could see the White House burning in his mind's eye, flames hot and red against the dark. He could see a sliver of white as England held a torch aloft, no humor to be found in his expression as he smiled, teeth bared.

“You have to let me-- I need to-- _please_ , don't--”

“I'm supposed to bring you to Arthur, America.”

“He's _here_?”

“And I can't stop the people. The damage is done, America. The capital is taken. Your president is on the run.”

He hadn't been looking for his brother. Hadn't wanted to find him. He had a duty, he _knew_ \-- a duty to his people, to his parent country, but America had been his brother long before the settlers had even set foot on their soil. He had gone searching through dark, empty side streets and alleys, hoping his brother had the sense to flee, to run-- there were two Nations in his capital, surely he had to know!

And he had turned the corner, and his brother was in front of him, and he had little choice but to bring his weapon to bear.

His brother looked desperate.

“Please-- you don't _understand_ , I need to--”

There were footsteps. Not the sound of a soldier, too light, too swift. They came from behind his brother, but his brother was leaning heavily against a wall for support, fresh blood staining his clothes, _begging_ in fragments of sentences that Canada could not make heads nor tails of. Just... _please_. _Matthew_. _Please_. And his brother did not hear.

There were footsteps; a girl darted round the corner and stopped short, barely stifling a gasp. She was no older than fifteen at most; her skin was black like the sky above them; there was blood across her skirts. She stared at Canada, and Canada looked back into his brother's eyes in a stranger's face. A child's face.

“I need to-- get _home_ , Matthew-- Mattie, please, listen--”

He lowered the gun. His brother did not notice.

“Get _out_ of here, America, okay? If I find you again, I'm going to have to take you to England. He _ordered_ me to bring you to him. I don't have a choice.”

His brother startled, stared-- “Matthew.”

“America.” They were at war. The British Empire against the fledgling United States-- and Canada was a part of the Empire, after all. “Please. _Run_.”

He staggered to his feet. Turned, saw the girl, and nearly fell over again, but Canada didn't wait to hear their conversation. If he knew where they were, he would need to tell England-- he had a duty. And, as was required of him, and of all others like him, they were Nations first. Personhood came second.

He crushed any suspicions he had in his mind, and reported that his search had turned up nothing.

* * *

 _November 16, 1978  
_ _Alaska_

He was not sure if even the Americans knew that this house was here. The Soviets certainly did not.

For everyone's sake, he hoped that neither of them did-- the personification of Russia, on American soil, _now_ , was not an ideal situation. The Americans would think him a threat. His own people would likely brand him a traitor. It wouldn't be the first time.

But the house-- it was an old, old, old house. There were no roads to it, not on any modern map. It was a place which he had lived back when the land under his feet was a colony, and a place he had maintained in the years since. Less, since he and America could no longer speak on terms that would be considered _friendly_ , but still he returned, taking a plane into Canada and then speeding across the border where no one would think to look for him.

It was an old, old, old house. Russia came here when his bosses were being... well.

He was a good Nation, and he did not speak ill of his bosses or his people.

But he did like to come here from time to time.

It was twilight, far enough north that the dimness was perpetual, and he approached the old haven through shadows and snowdrifts. Lost in thought, he noticed nothing of the growing light until he could see it streaming through the windows, a cheery yellow glow from a building supposed to be empty.

Something twisted at his lips, a not-quite smile, an almost-laugh. Good things did not last forever, no! One would think he would remember as such by now. Perhaps it was the Americans, their personification's paranoia making him hyperaware of foreign infringement on his land, waiting for him to set foot onto their soil once more-- or, perhaps, Canada himself! Knowing his brother's enemy stood on his tundra before crossing the western border. Perhaps his own people, but they had no qualms about snatching someone from their homes in the past, from their beds, and that had not changed much. They would have just prevented him from getting on the plane. Perhaps--

The door creaked open. Warm light spilled out onto the well-worn steps, and the small, small tracks that led up them to the porch, and a little girl's face peered out from the gap, smiling up at him.

Baffled, he could only stare.

She was a tiny thing, coming up to about halfway between his knee and hip, her skin dark, and her hair straight and black like Alaskan natives. Her smile was wide, open, and her clothes were new, fur-lined, blue with yellow trim. But her _eyes_...

God above, but he remembered seeing those eyes in the face of a person he had once called a friend.

“You're Russia,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, no doubt of what she meant-- no way he could assume she meant Russia _ **n**_ , instead. “My name is Aria Jones! I am the State of Alaska. I wanted to meet you.”

* * *

_current day  
Washington, District of Columbia_

Hardly any but the few who actually _knew_ of them were paying them any attention as they settled down at the head of the table. Prussia was sitting next to his brother, phone in hand and a poorly-concealed smirk on his face; Germany himself seemed set on ignoring both his brother's odd behavior and Italy Veneziano's chattering on his other side. Canada kept shooting them nervous glances, and Louisiana knew that he was worried about the outcome of things, about how other Nations would react to a secret kept from them for so long. Russia did not even look at them, but there was something like a smile on his face that thoroughly unnerved anybody in his general vicinity.

“Is everyone here?” Washington District asked, not looking up from where she stood, shuffling about papers and files in an open briefcase. Louisiana glanced down the table, seeing the last of the group take their seats. It was a larger meeting than normal, much of the G20 and European Union present, and he wasn't _entirely_ sure who was supposed to be here and who wasn't – a number of his siblings had gone to major in world politics and poli-sci, but not him.

“Think so, yeah.”

“Good. God, but you'd think Alfred would know how to organize papers, it's only _been_ more than two hundred years...”

Louisiana snickered; their father could be hopelessly disorganized at times, much to the capital's frustration. But unfortunately, he was not alone in overhearing the comment; other Nations rolled their eyes, and a couple scoffed, and a few whispered in words meant to carry, meant to unnerve the perceived human duo sent in their country's stead.

“--couldn't be bothered--”

“--too 'busy' to come to a meeting that's been scheduled for _months_ \--”

“--burn the capital down again, maybe then he'd show up.”

It was hardly uncommon for Nations – or States, in their case – to fling barbs at one another, to hold grudges. It was hardly uncommon for their humor to turn rather morbid after a few centuries, to joke about history and old wars, the barbs then meant, in part, in jest. But in those cases, both parties _knew_ , both recognized the line which neither would cross. Could fling back words of their own if it was, sharp, pointed, aimed to _hurt_. England had no knowledge of them, but a line had indeed been crossed.

“Perhaps not the best thing to joke about while in said capital,” France answered him, but he was smiling, too.

“Abby--” Louisiana whispered, seeing how still his sister had gone.

“It's fine,” she answered, straightening, papers in hand, expression carefully blank. “Just words. Just politics.”

“I can make the opening speech?”

“No.” She glanced briefly toward England and the other assembled Nations, then away again. “No, I know exactly what I'm going to say. But thank you, Lou.”

And she stood to make her way to the podium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know little of politics outside of the United States and have no idea how G20 summits actually work, but I imagine that there comes a time when the leaders of the world decide to shove all of their countries into a meeting room for a given time in the hopes that they'll manage to come up with something useful.
> 
> Also, England isn't deliberately being a dick, here. Nations fight all of the time, as do the States. He just happens to have _really_ bad timing.


	4. interlude

_current day  
_ _Vermont_

“This is payback for every day we ever got sick as kids.”

“I don't think even _we_ were this difficult.”

It had been a long night. America made a terrible patient, in that he kept trying to get up and do things despite clearly being incapable of doing them. As of now, two of the States needed to help him down the hall to the bathroom so he didn't fall over on the way; responding to emails with any kind of coherency was _far_ out of his ability. Though the Thirteen – that is, the original thirteen colonies, the eldest of the group in terms of statehood – had been working in shifts to look after their father, it hadn't been especially easy.

Not only because he was a terrible patient, but because it _hurt_ to see their father like this. There were bad memories associated with bedridden family members.

A couple of the Midwest had taken over the duty of care, leaving their older siblings to collapse in the living room for a much-needed break on couches and in armchairs – or, in the case of Massachusetts, face-first into New York's shoulder, the both of them standing upright. Virginia pinched the bridge of her nose as if to ward off a headache, and Delaware was already half-asleep in a pillow.

“Hey.” Pennsylvania giggled, sideways in a recliner, legs haphazardly over one side and her brown curls a mess. “Hey, remember when we were, like, thirty or something. And we could fall asleep anywhere.”

“And Pa kept wondering how the hell we managed it?” Georgia grinned. “Oh, yeah. Good times, Betsy.”

“Confused him something bad,” North Carolina agreed. “Feels a bit like that. God, 'm tired.”

New Jersey was next to break the silence, waving one hand in the air. “That meeting... thing. When's it start?”

Delaware pulled a phone out of her pocket to check, having taken charge of monitoring the bulk of their father's work while he was out of commission. “Nine-thirty. Recess at eleven, back at twelve-thirty. Ends for the day at four.”

“I do _not_ envy Abigail or Lou for that,” Connecticut declared. “Our own meetings are hectic enough.”

“Think she's gonna go with the reveal?” New Hampshire asked.

“If she wants to get them to take her seriously, yeah.” New York looked at Massachusetts, face still pressed into the fabric of his sweatshirt, before scooping him up without warning and dumping him on the nearest couch. Massachusetts, for his part, didn't even protest but for a “get _down_ here so I can keep using you as a pillow.”

“They don't take none of our government folk seriously,” South Carolina scoffed. “Which, fair.”

“Yes, we _know_ your thoughts on government, Caroline.”

“The hell you implying--?”

“If any of you start arguing, I'm kicking everyone out.” Rhode Island crossed his arms. “I can fight all of you. Don't think I won't.”

“You're, like, four feet tall?” Tired though she was, Virginia grinned wryly.

“I'm sorry, you're so much taller than me I had trouble telling, but was that a crack about my height? Because if it was, I'm fighting you first.”

“Chill out, Rogue's Island. 'Sides, you're contradicting yourself.”

“...Hmph.”

“Hey, uh. Guys? Someone? Hello?”

The shout came out from the front hallway, near the stairwell, and Connecticut got up with a groan to go investigate. Ohio was leaning over the balcony from two floors up, where the bulk of the bedrooms were, looking worried.

“Hey, yeah, Papa got back into his work email? Timothy is doing damage control, but we're thinking one of you folks should probably change the password.”

Connecticut dropped her head into her hands.

“You guys catch that?” she called, muffled slightly by her fingers.

“Unfortunately,” Delaware called back. “Steven, text Abby.”

“Why do _I_ have to do it?” New York demanded.

“'Cause you're the one who called her in the first place?” she shot back.

“Also,” Massachusetts said, “you giggle every time you look at her contact name and it's really cute.”

“You're just saying that because you came up with it--”

“Less flirting,” Virginia snapped. “More texting.”

“Geez, wow. Okay, okay, I'm going..”


	5. Chapter 5

Louisiana watched as Washington District made her way to the front of the room, papers in hand; Canada's worry had only increased; Prussia was grinning in something less like amusement and more like a predator who knew his prey was captured, caught. Nations talked amongst themselves, otherwise oblivious, even after the capital cleared her throat to get their attention.

“Greetings,” she said then, perhaps a touch too sharp, and most of the noise died down, “and thank you for all attending this biannual meeting. For those of you who have yet to work with me, my name is Abigail Jones, representation of Washington, D.C., and I am currently filling in for America with one other, representation of Louisiana, as a result of unforeseen circumstances. Rest assured, your work schedules will likely not be disrupted as such in the future.”

Louisiana pushed back a smile. Yes, because the family would be watching their father like a hawk and making sure that he remembered to take breaks from time to time.

“--did she say--”

“--representation _of_ \--”

“--but a _city_ can't--”

“In addition to having been briefed on the typical structure and procedure of these meetings, I have been informed that there is an unofficial, undocumented ninety-minute recess between eleven o'clock and twelve thirty on each day these meetings are scheduled in order to maintain peace and minimize threats of bodily harm. Having born witness to numerous congressional and cabinet meetings, I fully support this measure, and you need not worry of its removal due to a different host. As we are beginning somewhat earlier than anticipated, I can answer a few questions you might have now, but otherwise all queries and concerns must be delayed until the meeting's end.”

“Could you clarify your representative status?” France asked, light tone at odds with the surprise on his face as he worked his way through processing the matter. Next to him, England rather looked as though he had swallowed his tongue.

Louisiana gave up the pretense of decorum and leaned back in his chair to enjoy the show.

“Ah. Yes.” Washington District nodded once, slowly, looking down at them. “Perhaps I was a little unclear. Abigail Jones, representation of Washington, District of Columbia, the capital city of the United States-- representation, in this case, being synonymous with _personification_. Should you doubt this claim, there are records dating approximately two hundred years to back it up, and I can tell you right now that the Blue Line of the WMATA is running on a twenty-minute delay, the President is currently eating a late breakfast on the balcony overlooking the South Lawn, and there was a head-on collision on Route 495 towards Baltimore, two casualties, both of them mine. Sufficient?”

No one answered.

“Good,” she continued briskly. “First on the agenda is a presentation regarding the current economy...”

* * *

The assembled group filed out when the scheduled break came, far more subdued than they might otherwise be and talking with one another; Washington District waited until the majority had left to pinch the bridge of her nose with a wince, brows furrowed, eyes shut.

“Migraine again?” Louisiana asked, quiet.

“Getting there,” she answered.

“Out Kind don't normally get headaches unless there's a problem~” Both startled; they hadn't noticed North Italy's approach until the man was standing in between them both, ignoring Germany's sharp _don't bother them!_ as he trailed after. But the Italian's words were only concerned, matching the open expression on his face as he looked at them both. “Are you all right, Ms. Jones?”

“Congress is in session,” she answered after a pause, looking down at him. “As representative of the nation's capital, everything within these seventy square miles affects me the way things would within your country's borders, even the smaller things. Politics especially. Congress argues.”

“Oh~ Yes, that does sound like a lot!” He nodded brightly. “Well, if you wanted to sit somewhere quiet for the break, of course! But if you were willing to come and get coffee with me, I had a couple of questions for you.”

Germany sighed in a way that managed to sound both apologetic and exasperated and tried to usher Italy away, to no avail. Louisiana glanced at Washington District, shrugging slightly; he was more than willing to take the coffee break alone if she wanted to down some Tylenol-3 and sit in a dark car until the meeting started again. But she just nodded slowly a couple of times and offered the closest thing she normally got to a smile.

“I'd be happy to, Mr. Vargas. Messrs. Beilschmidt, you're more than welcome to join us.”

“Oh! Call me Feli, Ms. Jones, you must!”

“Mr. Beilschmidt!” Prussia echoed with a grin. “Yeah, no thanks, kid.”

Washington District raised an eyebrow. Louisiana muffled a laugh with a cough. “Fine. Feli, _Gilbert_ \--” This she said with the French pronunciation as opposed to the English one, knowing it would rile him up but her tone remaining entirely bland – never let it be said that the capital couldn't crack a joke. Most people just didn't know when she did, or whether or not she was being serious. “--Ludwig?” Germany nodded slightly. “If you don't mind me stopping by my car before we leave, coffee sounds lovely.”

“Been too long since I caught up with you kids,” Prussia said, clapping Louisiana's shoulder with enough force to nearly make him overbalance. “How's the tiny one?”

“Robert still complains about running drills shoeless in the snow,” he answered dryly, and Prussia threw back his head and laughed.

They began to make their way to the doors, but Washington District's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she took it out with a frown.

“Everything good?” Louisiana asked her.

“Just an update from home,” she answered. “Something about work emails, I can take care of it en route.”

* * *

From the building, they made their way a couple streets over to a coffeeshop that Washington District preferred to frequent when someone forced her into taking a break; she, like America, never seemed to _stop_. It was a little hole in the wall kind of place, dark and cozy, not the venue one would expect five men and women in suits to enter into, but the woman behind the counter – hilariously petite in comparison to the capital's height, her hair short and spiky and electric blue, skin bronze and freckled like Louisiana's – beamed when they walked in.

“Abigail! You _do_ have friends!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Washington District's expression softened minutely.

“Lou's family,” she answered in her usual brisk tone, which was rather at odds with the look in her eye. “And these three are colleagues from work, so your endeavors to find me company have yet to show success.”

“God _damn_ , lady.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Your usual, then?”

“Please. Thanks, Melissa.”

“Anything for our favorite regular. And what can I get you gents?”

Germany was looking rather baffled by the whole interaction, and Louisiana was looking at Washington District with a joyful kind of glee – “That's the most expressions I've seen you use in a single conversation before!” – but Italy bounded eagerly up to the counter, scanning the menu.

“ _Ciao, bella_!” he said brightly. "Ah, but you Americans make coffee so strangely! Oh, well. Could I have a cappuccino, please?”

“Sure thing,” Melissa replied, bemused, writing it down. “And-- you're Lou, right? Al's been in a few times, says you like spice-- how's a Mexican hot chocolate sound?”

“God _bless_ you,” Louisiana answered gratefully, grinning. Germany ordered a large black coffee after his brother ordered the same, and when Melissa had finished their orders – Abigail's extra-large caffe mocha, two shots of espresso, prompted an “are you _trying_ to give yourself a caffeine-induced heart attack” from Lou and a flat response of “I average four hours of sleep a night, and I will hear none of your judgment” – and everything had been paid for, they moved towards a table near the back in the mostly empty store.

“Won't we be overheard?” Germany murmured, glancing at the other patrons, and Melissa at the counter.

“I've been coming here since this place opened ten years back and haven't aged a day over eighteen; no one asks questions.” Washington District shrugged slightly. “They just accept it, so I have, too.”

“Hm.” He didn't look fully convinced, but sat all the same. Italy bounced up and down a few times in his chair.

“Why haven't any of us – or, _most_ any of us,” he amended, glancing to Prussia, “heard of you before? Or met any of you?”

“Revolutionary policy,” she answered, causing Louisiana to quickly elaborate.

“Before the American Revolution,” he said, “England wasn't really present in the colonies. Too far from the parent country. Papa never got to introduce the colonies to him. And then, when the war started, he didn't want any foreign power to know about the states in case we lost. The blame would rest on him, not on the Thirteen.”

“And then I ran into a couple of scraps at Valley Forge,” Prussia interjected. Germany glanced over to him. “Steuben shows up to train a bunch of wrecks into an army, asks where America is, and General Washington himself looks real thoughtful for a moment. Says he hasn't seen Alfred Jones since the Seven Years' War, but there's a couple of kids who I might be interested in meeting. Sends a courier off, brings back these two kids, hardly thirteen, one of 'em isn't even wearing shoes. Fucking _wrecks_ , but they're there anyway, and the tiny one sasses me back without missing a beat. Rhode Island. Been with the army since the war started, I think, and Massachusetts went after as soon as he could. Think more of them followed suit.”

“All of New England,” Washington District agreed. “Nowadays, it's more of an open secret. Alfred would mention it if asked, most likely, but no one ever thought to; there's no reason for it. But several Nations found out regardless, over the years-- Russia, Canada, Hawaii, Mexico, Prussia, of course--”

“Russia?” Germany said in confusion at the same time as Italy's,

“But I thought Hawaii was a state?”

“The former Kingdom of Hawaii.” At the shared confused look, Louisiana sighed. “A bunch of white businessmen overthrew Queen Liliuokalani and immediately petitioned to become a territory of the United States. But travel across the Pacific was tricky, then, so Ailani – the Kingdom of Hawaii – found Hadwin – the _State_ of Hawaii – before Papa ever could. Raised him. Met Papa when he came looking. It's, uh.”

“Messy,” Washington District supplied.

“We didn't see him for a while. Hadwin, that is. Ailani's let him travel to the continent more often now that he's older, and that transportation is easier, but she has a strong grudge against Papa. Papa doesn't blame her, really. She teaches Hadwin a lot about her culture in case she ever fades, and he can pass it on to others.”

Italy had gone wide-eyed at the ever-so-casual mention of _fading_ , and while Germany seemed taken aback as well, he at least recognized the morbid practicality of it. Prussia just nodded; he had been teaching a lot of old history to his brother in decades past.

“As for Russia,” Washington District continued, looking almost pained, “Alaska searched him out – we still don't know how – and promptly started spending time with him whenever the chance came up. Invited him to Christmas, once.”

Louisiana shuddered. The three Nations decided it was best not to ask.

“So...” Germany coughed, took a swallow of coffee. “There are fifty-two of you?”

Louisiana snorted. “Sixty-one including officially-recognized provinces and territories. There are five of the U.S. Virgin Islands, Guam, Puerto Rico, the American Samoa, and Northern Marianas. That doesn't take into account former colonies or territories – Massachusetts Bay and Plymouth, for example, the Northwest – and then the micronations, as well. Native tribes, who don't talk with us much, also for understandable reasons. The continent has a frankly startling number of personifications across it.”

“But that's-- seventy, seventy-five?” Germany exclaimed.

“I personally theorize that there are a lot more personifications than most Nations would think.” Washington District took a sip of her drink, pondering for a moment how she wanted to phrase her next words. “We're the only evidence which backs it up – Canada, for example, has gone looking for territories and never found any – but it's entirely possible for personifications to exist and a Nation not to notice them. The States, and myself as the capital, don't exhibit the same _pull_ as you do. Would you have noticed a difference between myself and Melissa, over there, if you didn't know there was one?”

After a pause, Germany shook his head.

“A couple of the family have come to meetings before, as aides. No one noticed a thing. There could easily be personifications for districts or cities, and we wouldn't even know it.”

“Then how did America find _you_?”

“Papa is good at picking up things on the land,” Louisiana said, taking over. “He found Virginia first, and then he found the rest of us over the years. He _is_ Papa, undeniably. Sixty-one between the States, provinces, territories, capital, and the Nation, and we all have the same eyes, even if we look completely different.”

Italy hummed. He, at least, seemed to be taking most things in stride, looking thoughtful but not particularly judgmental. “How old are you?”

The mundane question after the ones which preceded it seemed to catch Washington District off-guard, but only for a moment. “Alfred found me in 1800, a couple years after the land for the capital was chartered, making me almost two hundred and twenty-five. Officially, we date our ages by the ratification of statehood-- or, in my case, the official christening of the capital in 1801. Physically, that timeline is the one our ages follow as well. But Aria-- that is, Alaska-- has memories of Russian colonization, which would make her older than I am. Physically she looks like your average second-grade student.”

“...She's seven or eight,” Louisiana tagged on.

“Ohhh.” Italy nodded and took another gulp from his drink. "You Americans have a very strange schooling system. What about...?"

Heavier topics out of the way first, the simpler questions were a relief, and took up the remainder of the scheduled break. The group of five departed for the meeting hall at quarter past noon; Italy gleefully went ahead once they were inside, and Prussia dragged Louisiana off with some bombastic declaration, looking to catch up, and Germany shifted ever so slightly on his feet.

"...Why did you tell us all of that?" he finally asked. "My brother clearly knew most of it, but why Feliciano and I?"

The capital tilted her head to one side for a brief moment, considering. "After a while, it was less that we needed to keep this a secret and more that there was no tactful way to  _stop_ keeping it a secret. But Alfred would call you a friend, if asked. He trusts you both. And if you'll pardon my callousness, I also know that any information passed through you is less likely to be distorted."

"Ah." Yes, the logical motivations made sense, but... a  _friend_? America was equal parts friendly and deliberately infuriating to everybody. "I... see."

"It's okay if you don't." She pushed the meeting room doors open, holding it so he could follow her through. "He confuses us, too, and we're family."

Germany thought of Prussia, and nodded slowly. " _That_ I understand."


	6. interlude, pt. 2

**iMessage  
** **11:09 AM**

**washington, washington, six stories tall made of radiation**

_\--heyyyyyy so  
_ _\--we had to change pa's password to his email bc he kept trying to work  
_ _\--and then it was flooded with nation emails freaking out over about whatever the hell you said to them  
_ _\--please tell me there's recording of whatever the hell you said to them pat and I really wanna know_

_\--I definitely wouldn't allow surveillance to be taken of government meetings, but if I did, you'd need to talk to Prussia about it.  
_ _\--Give me the password, I can handle the work-related ones._

_\--yeah sure thing its imaprettyflowerchild  
_ _\--hadwin came up with it  
_ _\--p sure ailani was dying of laughter in the background but we couldnt see her on the skype call so idk_

_\--Well, then.  
_ _\--Thank you, Steven.  
_ _\--Also, did you get around to changing my contact info in your phone?_

_\--yeah it's something way more sensible now  
_ _\--idk what your problem was with the hamilton reference that show is one of my many prides and joys_

_\--Contact information is supposed to be specifically for contacting others, as the term would imply, and that's something no one else can do if none of the names in your phone are actual names._

_\--I put it in parentheses at the end ppl could tell it was you_

_\--New York._

_\--ughghghghghhhh you're no fun  
_ _\--jk abs ilu  
_ _\--but not as much as I love my husband_

_\--Go take a nap, Steven._

_\--wow rude_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "go take a nap, Steven" + "wow rude" refers to the fact that New York, due to the major influence of NYC as the city that never sleeps, has insomnia
> 
> Abigail's previous contact name was "heRE COMES THE GENERAL (abby)"
> 
> Shoutout if you know where the current contact name is from.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Washington District's conversation with England fought me to the point where I eventually just had it happen off-screen. Feel free to imagine however it goes, shoot me ideas if you have them, maybe I'll write a separate short piece for it eventually.

The next few days of the meeting went more like meetings were supposed to go in that everyone seemed to have gotten over the worst of their surprise and actually _focused_. Washington District juggled her usual workload, her father's work he was unable to do, and the running of the meeting with remarkable ease; Louisiana cheerfully went up to give his father's presentation on economics. The mid-day recesses, on the other hand, saw a wide variety of conversation.

* * *

_France_

“ _Mademoiselle_!” he exclaimed, all grand sweeping gestures and charm. “Might I speak with you?"

Washington District bit back a response of _you already are_ that immediately sprang to her lips. Her headaches came and went, more often the former than the latter – she was used to it, after so long, but her temper still felt frayed around the edges.

“Go ahead.”

“I could not help but remember that a number of your family, before you became states, happened to be French colonies...”

_Whom you sold away or ceded to England, never having looked for them in the first place._

Louisiana looked up, puzzled, and met her gaze over France's shoulder.

“My brother is literally two chairs away from you.” She gestured briefly with one hand and let none of her amusement at Louisiana's eyeroll show on her face. “I'm sure he's quite willing to discuss his siblings and culture and cuisine.”

She almost hoped that Louisiana might convince the Frenchman to try one of his traditional Cajun dishes, just to see his reaction. But only almost. Actually hoping such things would be decidedly unprofessional of her.

* * *

_Russia_

“There's a meeting about halfway through next month if you have any pressing political concerns,” the capital said even before Russia had finished settling into the chair next to her.

“No, no,” he responded mildly. “I was only wondering if dear Sasha had changed his mind about letting Aria come to visit me in Moscow.”

“Given his last response was something along the lines of burying you alive in economic sanctions should you even try, I would assume the answer is still no.”

“Ah.” The smile did not fade from his face. “Well, I'm sure he will come to his senses soon enough.”

“...Certainly.”

* * *

_Japan_

“Pardon me, Ms. Jones.” Washington District glanced up. Japan was standing politely a short distance away from her, unobtrusive, respectful. “I only had a brief question.”

“Yes?” She turned fully to face him; he was a Nation she felt more comfortable around, being businesslike and reserved herself. And, much like Germany, he was someone her father considered a friend. Therefore, he was someone whom the capital would give the benefit of the doubt.

“Your family-- rather, their ages. Do they follow the order of colonization or statehood?”

“Statehood, despite colonization dates,” she replied, “for no apparent reason.”

“Ah.” He shifted very slightly, from foot to foot. “So your youngest sibling... Hawaii?”

Her thoughts slowed. There was a lot of fire in American history. “...Yes.”

“Ah,” he said again. She couldn't quite get a read on his expression. “Could you... could you tell him, next you see him... I did not know...”

He did not seem to know how to continue. Washington District, equally unsure as to how she should answer, for once, only nodded.

* * *

_Alaska_

“Abby.”

Early on the third day of meetings, before most of the Nations had arrived and the meeting room itself was almost entirely emptied, both Washington District and Louisiana were going about and making sure everything was set up the way it was supposed to be. His odd tone of voice caught her attention, and the capital looked up to see Louisiana staring in bafflement at a rather large dog trotting about, weaving back and forth around chairs, not a care in the world; a leash clipped to its collar trailed along behind it.

Her mind went blank for a moment as she processed. “ _Why_.”

“Probably because she can?” Still baffled, unable to look away from the black and white Alaskan Malamute, he gave a helpless sort of shrug. “Can, in that she can come to a meeting without as many questions being asked. I don't... how did she even _get_ here.”

“I flew!” The doors were pushed open, and three more dogs raced in, also trailing leashes, two of them black and white like the first and the last a reddish kind of brown. A little girl followed after them, a cheerful smile on her face; like her family, she shared their eyes, a clear and bright and vibrant blue, but also like her family, she bore no resemblance to them in any other way. Her skin was darker than Louisiana's by a few shades, her hair long and coarse and black with a yellow flower clip keeping it out of her face. Brightly colored butterflies were embroidered into her jeans, and her sweatshirt was a dark navy with yellow stars. “How else?”

“You flew _unaccompanied across the country_ ,” Washington District said flatly. “With _all_ of your sled dogs.”

“Yes!”

There was a moment of silence. One of the dogs trotted up to lick at the capital's hand, and she twitched.

“...I need more coffee to deal with this,” she said, gathering up her papers and sliding them into her briefcase, snapping it shut, and disappearing from the room without another word. The two siblings watched her go and watched the door shut behind her.

“Congress?” Alaska asked, seemingly unconcerned.

“Congress,” Louisiana agreed. “How'd you get the dogs in?”

“I _told_ you, I _flew_.”

“That just raises more questions, kid.”

(The beginning of that day's conference found a third chair wedged in between a resigned Washington District and a still-confused Louisiana, disturbingly identical smiles on both Russia and Alaska's faces, and four Alaskan Malamutes – Juneau, Sitka, Fairbanks, and Gnome, respectively – asleep in the corner.)

* * *

_England_

A faint cough. “Erm. Ms. Jones.”

Washington District noticeably stiffened. Louisiana glanced up from where he was texting Georgia for updates – Papa was doing marginally better overall, but his fever had gone up overnight and he got confused from time to time; he also seemed to have forgotten about the meeting entirely, and not a one of his children intended to remind him – and shifted just in case he needed to get up and drag the Englishman away. Bad leg or no, he _would_ do it.

“Mr. Kirkland,” she answered, looking at him. To England's credit, he never once stared at the scars marring the side of her face, but his gaze kept shifting to the window behind her as he struggled to meet her eyes.

“I...” He coughed again, looking as though he was doing his very best not to fidget. “I believe I owe you an apology for my words at the beginning of this conference.”

Washington District did not move; Louisiana felt his brows shoot up. England, admitting he had misstepped. None of his siblings would believe it.

“...You do,” she finally replied, and watched the brief flash of frustration cross his features before being tucked away. Yes, she _would_ make him say it; _I owe you an apology_ was not, after all, an apology in and of itself. “Perhaps this might be a conversation better held in private.”

She would make him say it, but not in a way that caused a scene, not in front of everyone else. Louisiana caught her gaze as they left, and she shook her head minutely; he remained sitting, then, knowing that she could handle herself, and if he tried to follow her anyway, just in case, she _would_ find out. And she very likely would be upset with him.

“Does your sister hate him?”

The young State startled; France was nearby, close enough to have heard the conversation. Louisiana found himself doubly grateful that the pair had left, and he turned slowly to face the older man. He knew the answer-- but how much content did he reveal to this stranger? How much of his family's personal lives and history did he want to throw into the gossip mill of the world?

...Perhaps they should have sent a human in their stead, regardless. Witnessing the Nation's reactions had been fun, even hilarious at times, and Prussia had gotten a fair bit of video, but something told him questions like this weren't going to stop any time soon.

“She's never met him before this week,” he finally answered. “Aside from a small handful, _none_ of us have met _any_ of you, and so the only closure that any of us have ever had is simply time. Papa found Abigail in 1800, and the British started burning in 1814. Imagine your country being occupied only __fourteen _years_ after its formation.” France went rather pale at that, and Louisiana mentally winced – the capital had only been occupied for a day, and France as a Nation had been occupied more than once and for far, far longer, so perhaps not the best comparison, even if it _did_ get the point across – but plowed on all the same. “But she doesn't hate him, and neither do any of the rest of us. And we don't hate any of the rest of _you_. Not really. Not any more, at least.”

“Any more?” France repeated gently.

Louisiana just raised an eyebrow. “Before England started taking over all the colonies, there were a dozen of them, give or take-- and not a one of you came looking. I remember French settlers in the 1600s. Carlotta-- Florida, rather-- remembers Spanish boats landing on her shores nearly _a hundred and fifty years_ before I ever saw the Mississippi emptying out into the gulf. Papa was the only one who ever thought to-- but between the wars, and sales of territory, and how long we were alone, can you, _can you_ , blame us?”

France had gone pale again, and Louisiana realized that his voice had gotten a little bit louder, a little bit more sharp, and the surrounding conversations had gone just a little bit quieter in response. He turned and went back to texting Georgia before he could say anything more, or something that he might regret. He lacked his sister's talent with words-- and her ability to hold her temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Florida was established in 1513.
> 
> French Louisiana was a portion of New France (all French territory in the Americas) established in 1682.
> 
> A number of coastal territories that eventually became our modern-day states after their acquisition by England and the eventual revolution bore names such as New Netherlands and New Sweden.
> 
> The "Sasha" comment is borrowed from here because I still think about it and laugh on occasion:  
> http://rossiyaph.tumblr.com/post/139016141266/small-headcanon


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one, folks. Also, it turned into text messages between the family, somehow? And my New York/Massachusetts ship kind of pushed its way to the forefront?? But hey, you get a glimpse into what their interactions are like when no one is observing them. List of who's who in the end notes.

**iMessage  
** **12:07 PM  
** **belle**

_\--hey what's the holdup?_

_\--sorry_  
_\--england just came up to talk to abby  
_ _\--had to make sure I didn't need to physically beat him over the head_

 _\--ah  
_ _\--do /I/ need to physically beat him over the head?_

 _\--no I think they're okay_  
_\--went to have a talk in the hallway_  
_\--I can fight him don't worry  
_ _\--and abby can verbally eviscerate him_

_\--point_

* * *

**iMessage  
** **12:11 PM  
** **no homo**

_\--how's papa?_

_\--aren't you supposed to be taking a nap_

_\--i did for like...... half an hour_  
_\--it's fine it's good  
_ _\--i made coffee_

_\--i worry about you_

_\-- <3 <3_

_\--sap_  
_\--anyway papa's asleep_  
_\--keeps mistaking carol/ine for elizabeth  
_ _\--called robert england_

_\--oh my god_

_\--name in vain_

_\--i don't remember any of your puritan heritage showing up last night  
_ _\--what's this sudden change of heart_

_\--there were other things going up last night ;)_

_\--if you use a winky face one more time  
_ _\--we're getting a divorce_

_\--w o w_

* * *

**iMessage  
** **12:28 PM  
** **elizabeth**

_\--is aria still at the meeting with you??_

_\--No. She gave Russia a bottle of vodka as a present, went to the park with him, and left the next day._

_\--she said she was coming up to check on pa_  
_\--we assumed that she meant she was coming back up with you and/or lou_  
 _\--and then caroline pointed out she never does what we assume_  
 _\--and so_

_\--That's a fair point.  
\--Expect her at the house soon, then, I suppose._

_\--how the hell does she even travel on her own she's a tiny child with four dogs_

_\--I've yet to find out._

* * *

**iMessage  
** **8:46 AM  
** **big sis**

_\--kaikuahine !!_

_\--младший брат_  
_\-- <dog emoji>  
_ _\-- :-D_

 _\-- <3  
_ _\--makuahine says i can come visit_

_\--!!!!!!!_

_\--!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

* * *

**iMessage  
** **2:59 PM  
** **carolina**

_\--if pa calls me elizabeth one more time you're taking over this shift_

_\--we look exactly alike  
_ _\--we are twins_

_\--ugh_

_\--don't ugh me you volunteered for this_

_\--sorry it's just  
_ _\--i don't like seeing him like this_

_\--??_

_\--not exactly the best memories_  
_\--pa being sick  
_ _\--or bedridden_

 _\--yeah that's_  
_\--yeah  
\--that's fair  
_ _\--do you want company?_

_\--please_

* * *

**iMessage  
** **4:32 PM  
** **big apple**

 _\--steven_  
_\--steven_  
_\--steven  
_ _\--steven_

_\--hi_

_\--steven_

_\--no this is patrick_

_\--why the fuck are you quoting a kid's show  
_ _\--you're nearly four hundred years old_

 _\--why do you RECOGNIZE a kid's show lou huh??  
_ \-- _huh?????_  
_\--huh???????????_  
_\--actually tho what's up  
_ _\--steven's asleep for once but I am free to help_

 _\--no i'm just bored_  
_\--there's half an hour left in this meeting  
_ _\--i think even abby is flagging_

_\--dear god_

_\--name in vain_

_\--you cannot make jokes about your puritan upbringing if you were not, in fact, raised puritan  
_ _\--now shush_

 _\--rude_  
_\--seriously tho she's doing that thing_  
_\--yknow the thing where everyone sticks on task_  
_\--because abby is abby and wonderful  
_ _\--and lowkey terrifying when she wants to be_  
 _\--and everyone is too in awe to contradict her bc she lowkey looks like she could_  
 _\--and would_  
 _\--kill a man_

 _\--ohhh yeah_  
_\--yeah I know the thing_  
 _\--it's scarier when you helped raise her trust me_

_\--dieu_

_\--yep_

_\--i think she's seriously regretting it  
__\--my head is spinning  
__\--idk what's going on  
__\--world politics at this level is not my forte_  
_\--it's totally worth it to see everyone's reactions abt us but like_  
 _\--?????_

 _\--yeah same  
_ _\--i just chuck some tea into the harbor and pray_

 _\--was that literally the revolution for you  
_ _\--'idk what i'm doing let's go'_

 _\--have you read a history textbook??_  
_\--do you remember meeting any of the founding fathers????_  
_\--wait no you met them when they were old_  
_\--look none of us knew what we were doing_  
_\--literally none of us_  
_\--i was stuck in plymouth while boston was under siege and robert was fighting in the militia even though he looked, like, five at the time_  
_\--steven and I were being gay without realizing that we were gay  
_ _\--everyone in philadelphia was all 'do we try for peace' or 'fucking revolt lets go'_

 _\--there is no legality here, and certainly no precedence_  
_\--becAUSE ITS A N E W IDEA  
_ _\--YOU C L O D_

 _\--steven will be so proud when he wakes up  
_ _\--god bless_

* * *

 **iMessage**  
**5:07**  
 **Alfred**

 _\--Listen, I know the others have taken your phone so you don't try and do work half-dead.  
__\--I support this decision, even.  
__\--But Alfred.  
_ \-- _Pa._  
_\--How the hell do you survive these meetings._

* * *

 **iMessage**  
**5:08**  
 **rev squad**

_\--pffffffff yknow how i've got pa's phone yeah_

_ rogue's island _  
_\--yes_

 _boston strong_ _  
_ \-- _yeah_

_greeeeeeeeeeen  
\--yep_

_not a freemason  
\--do tell_

_constant vigilance  
\--am i the only one concerned abt how this conversation started out??_

_\--yes constance you are_  
_\--anywho just got some texts from abby to pa_  
 _\-- <screenshot.img>_

_boston strong  
\--OH MY GOD_

_rogue's island  
\--name in vain_

_greeeeeeeeeeen_ _  
\--lololol_

_ boston strong _   
_\--why is everyone dragging me like this i don't deserve it_   
_\--i am a good person_

_rogue's island  
\--not by puritan standards_

_bos_ _ton_ _ strong   
_ _\--shut the hell your face_

_not a freemason  
\--this is glorious_

_ constant vigilance _   
_\--........we are gonna owe abby like_   
_\--twenty years of office supplies in payment for this_   
_\--and maybe a couple nice bouquets of flowers_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st convo -- Louisiana (right-side messages) texting Georgia (Belle Jones, left-side messages)  
> 2nd convo -- Massachusetts and New York; "carol/ine" is Carol and Caroline, North and South Carolina, respectively; Robert is Rhode Island  
> 3rd convo -- Washington DC and Virginia (Elizabeth Jones); Aria is Alaska  
> 4th convo -- Hawaii and Alaska; to the best of my research, "kaikuahine" is the Hawaiian word for sister, and makuahine is the word for mother; Alaska's text reads "little brother" in Russian  
> 5th convo -- North and South Carolina, both of whom are listed as "Carolina" in each other's phones, since they used to be one colony  
> 6th convo -- Louisiana and Massachusetts (though he starts out texting New York's phone)  
> 7th convo -- Washington District and a not-currently-present America  
> 8th convo -- New Hampshire and Rhode Island (rogue's island); Massachusetts (boston strong); Vermont (greeeeeeeeeen); Maine (not a freemason); Connecticut (constant vigilance)


	9. Chapter 9

_Finally._

Washington District wasn't the sort of person who would back down from hard work. Politics was difficult, unforgiving, migraine-inducing, she knew _all_ of that very well-- and it was what she was good at, after centuries of practice. She didn't regret choosing to go along with this plan her family had come up with, spur of the moment; neither did she regret the opportunity to oversee a conference of Nations in an official capacity, nor the feeling of organized control that came with such a task. And though no one could ever get her to admit it, she _did_ enjoy the confusion her and Louisiana's appearance had caused.

What she wasn't pleased with, and had not been pleased with for the entire week of meetings, ever since she had received that phone call from New York, was that she'd needed to scramble to rearrange her personal schedule _and_ gather everything one needed for the upcoming conference, having only been informed that she would be leading it the day before it began.

Governments did not move or change with much speed, and she _did not like_ the disruptions in routine.

But the week was over, and there had been no casualties, and she would soon be flying back with Louisiana to the family home in Vermont for a few days to rest. Not that she was pleased with the forced vacation, either (she _liked_ her work, no matter how difficult it got), but Louisiana had insisted that she take a break.

The meetings were done with. It was four o'clock on a Friday evening and they were _done_.

“Is that a smile, Abby?”

“I've no idea what you're talking about.”

“I'm _pretty_ sure that's a smile.”

“ _I'm_ pretty sure that the power of the federal government outstrips and therefore overrules the power and decisions of any given state.”

Louisiana stared at her. Canada, a few chairs down, had to duck his head to hide a smile at the expression on his face. “Wow. Um. Okay, then.”

* * *

The meetings ended; Washington District found herself somehow coerced into attending the night's festivities which always followed them. For all that the Nations argued and fought and held century-long grudges, there were no others like them, no one else who could understand the experience of the weight of one's country on one's back for as long as they could remember-- and so, once the formalities of any given meeting were out of the way, all the Nations would crash the nearest bar, drink until it closed, and pay for any inadvertent destruction come the morning.

She wasn't thrilled about it, needless to say.

But she also wanted to minimize property damage. Her own family was bad enough; heaven only knew what the much older Nations would get up to.

So she went, however reluctant, and Louisiana came despite being legally underage in order to take pictures for amusement's sake, and everyone was, in short order, very _spectacularly_ drunk.

“Haw anyone ever told you,” France declared, leaning so far over in his seat that he nearly fell out of it; Louisiana, sitting beside him, grabbed his arm and pulled him upright, “ _mademoiselle_ , that your hair is... quite nice...?”

“Yes,” Washington District responded flatly. France blinked. Louisiana laughed and snapped another photo.

(He hadn't seen his sister finish the drink before her over the course of the night, but she was marginally more relaxed than she had been at the start, so he wasn't sure.)

“Lay off, frog--”

“Feeling neglected, _Angleterre?_ ”

It was a crowded room, filled with boisterous noise, nearly all of the Nations in attendance at the conference present. Prussia was easily one of the loudest present, and Germany had even smiled from time to time, and Italy Veneziano was chattering excitedly to the bartender in Italian, who, not speaking nor understanding a word, nodded at the appropriate times. Italy Romano interjected occasionally, also in Italian, occasionally in Latin, or in something even older, when he wasn't bickering with Spain. Canada had started up a conversation with some of the men watching sports on the television behind the bar, vehemently arguing the superiority of hockey to other sports. England, just like in the stories their father had shared from time to time, lacked any and all ability to hold his liquor. Minimal destruction occurred-- perhaps due to the presence of two relative strangers, or perhaps they had just mellowed out in recent decades.

(Most likely, it was the former.)

Louisiana took a number of photos, all of them equally hilarious, and while he had little desire to torment anyone with his older siblings, the bulk of them had already been sent to the Thirteen; New York responded with a brief video of Massachusetts literally on the ground laughing captioned only “hes been this way for like ten minutes.” But perhaps his favorite was when Prussia, attempting to demonstrate-- something, he wasn't quite sure, he was speaking in a dialect that no one knew-- stood on top of his bar stool and promptly fell off it with a string of curses.

Washington District's face cracked into a wide grin that went otherwise unnoticed with everyone's attention focused elsewhere, perhaps the only reason why she let her usual mask down. And Louisiana caught it on camera.

* * *

 

**iMessage  
** **11:09 PM  
** **it has been zero days since our last nonsense**

_\--removed big sis abby from the chat  
_ _\-- <IMG.20346>_

_big apple  
_ – _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

 __belle  
_\--did you just remove abby from the family chat  
_ – _//just// to send that without her knowing_

__ the gay one  
_\--shes gonna find out u know shes the govt  
_ _\--abigail knows All_

_\--“did you just”_  
_\--“none of you are sober enough to remember this in the morning"_  
_\--PSYCH  
_ _\--IM NOT LEGAL (rip) A N D I HAVE A CAMERA_

__ boston strong  
_\--rip loulouisiana jones_  
_\--died today after being born however the fuck many years ago_  
_\--when were you born kid_  
_\--or not born  
_ _\--but yknow_

_\--long enough to make me the same age as you  
_ _\--despite what the order of statehood says_

_ boston strong  
_ _\--diSRES P E CT_

__ belle  
_\--added big sis abby to the chat_  
_\--hey abigail  
_ _\-- <IMG.20346>_

__ doesnt like oranges much  
_\--belle you're an accessory to murder  
_ _\--how does that make you feel_

_ belle  
_ _\--he'll be fine_

_\--B E L L E_  
_\--ABORT_  
_\--ABORT  
_ _\--A B OTRldgkjak_

__ boston strong  
_\--rip loulouisiana jones_  
_\--died today after appearing out of nowhere  
_ _\--however the fuck many years ago_

_ big apple  
_ _\--it has been negative days since our last nonsense_

_ lil sis  
_ _\--can you all Stop my dogs are Trying to s leep_


	10. Chapter 10

_current day  
_ _Middle of Nowhere, Vermont_

“You did _what_?!”

America had finally snapped out of his illness, his fever having broken the evening of the day that Washington District and Louisiana had flown back from the week of conferences, and it hadn't taken him especially long to remember what he had missed. The States who hadn't already been in his room catching him up on things had piled in to give a joint explanation – but a quiet one, since the capital had dozed off while sitting on the window seat, and none of them felt especially inclined to wake her.

The Thirteen looked surprisingly nonchalant about the whole matter, even in the face of their father's surprise. South Carolina just pushed a mug of soup into his hands before sitting down on the floor next to her twin; New York and Massachusetts weren't even paying attention to him, talking quietly in the corner; New Hampshire was writing out schematics for something on the back of what looked like paperwork from his desk; a number of the others were on their phones or talking amongst themselves.

For a secret that had been kept so long, he'd thought they would have more reaction than _this._

“We know why we couldn't say anything during the Revolution,” Virginia finally answered, shrugging slightly, “not that _that_ worked out well."

“Look, when motherfucking _George Washington_ introduces you to the Kingdom of Prussia as personifications, you can't really _lie_ about it--”

“And then it became a sort of unofficial law, what with the country's isolationist policies and all,” she continued as though Rhode Island hadn't interrupted. He stuck his tongue out at her, which she ignored, too. “But it's not like we need it anymore.”

“'Sides,” North Carolina added derisively, “last time you sent one've our government folk, poor boy needed therapy.”

“Understandable,” Louisiana piped up from his spot on the floor, comfortably ensconced in a number of pillows, cane set to one side. “They're very, um... a lot.”

“Very a lot?” Georgia repeated.

“What, that's two times you've killed Lou this week?”

“I don't deserve any of this from _either_ of you.”

“ _Children_.” Most of the noise quieted down, but America, finding he didn't actually have anything to say, still trying to process, just gestured to the still-sleeping capital and turned his attention to his soup with a sigh.

Connecticut leaned over to put her hand on his knee. “We had a whole meeting and everything, Pa,” she said gently, “talked to everyone about it. You know we wouldn't have gone ahead if everyone didn't agree.”

He sighed again. There wasn't very much he could say to that; his kids were their own people, and he couldn't stop them from making their own choices. He'd never been able to, really-- they listened to him, and respected him, but, _much like him_ , once they got an idea in their heads, they were going to go through with it.

And he _hadn't_ been able to make it to the meeting, on very short notice. As the host country, someone would have needed to go in his stead. Better someone like his daughter, who had dealt with both politics and personifications before, than someone who hadn't.

“...Tell me how it went?”

Louisiana offered up a lopsided smile. “Got through the whole agenda, which I've been told doesn't happen much. Not too many problems with the fallout, at least not right now. But that also might have been because Abby did that thing she does, with the words, and just being generally intimidating. Had to really lay into a bunch of them at the start, since they didn't believe us--”

“England?” Massachusetts exclaimed, abandoning his conversation with his husband with a wild look in his eye.

“--yes, including England, Patrick--”

“ _Hell fucking yeah_.”

“Babe... chill.”

“Hell fucking no?”

“-- _and_ we had a nice, civil conversation with Prussia, Germany, and North Italy that I think helped some, too.” He raised his voice slightly to be heard over the chatter. “Germany got the information we told him spread around-- factual things, to answer general questions. Little bit personal, but nothing I didn't think anyone would be okay with. Prove we're personifications just like them, and such.”

“We _aren't_ personifications just like them,” Delaware pointed out.

“Close enough,” Maryland answered. “We represent the land. They represent the land. The difference is that we're like little puzzle pieces and they just kinda are, y'know?”

“I don't know if I like that metaphor.”

“Well, that's just too bad, isn't it?”

“ _Anyway_.” Louisiana rolled his eyes. “Um. Might have gotten a little annoyed at France at one point?”

“Can I fight him?”

“Robert, you can't fight everyone.”

“You, me, dawn. Jacob's my second.”

“Wait, what.”

“I thought we'd agreed no dueling in the house--?”

“When Abby wakes up, she's _my_ second.”

“Neutral party,” mumbled the capital, not opening her eyes. “Leave me out of it.”

America lifted the mug in his hands up to his lips to hide a smile.

Things were going to be interesting from here on out-- and yet, despite that, his kids never really seemed to change.

* * *

The next meeting, some months later, found America yawning as he went about making sure the conference room was set up the way it was supposed to be in preparation for the series of meetings ahead. There were low conversations around him, a few of the other Nations attending having already arrived, but for the most part it was quiet. The thud on the table in front of him was loud in the near-silence, and he looked up, startled; Washington District, as close as she ever really got to smiling outside of a private setting, held a tray of coffee and... oh, _that_ was where he'd left his briefcase.

“What would I do without you?” he asked, gratefully taking both. The coffee was from that shop his daughter liked to go to, and Melissa, the barista, had drawn a series of increasingly outrageous set of smiley faces around the cardboard holder of his cup.

“God only knows,” she responded dryly. “I was just stopping by to give you the notes from the last meeting; Jacob called early in the morning in a panic to say he'd taken the copies for scrap paper by mistake--”

“I was wondering where those went.”

“--and then I found your case out in the hallway, so they're in there, now.”

“Was wondering where that went, too.”

“Are you _sure_ you aren't still sick?” she asked, raising one eyebrow, and he sighed.

“No, just. Y'know.”

“Politics,” they finished in unison.

“Yes,” she said, with a very faint sigh of her own. “I get that.” But then she straightened, and almost-smiled a second time, and took a sip of her own coffee. “Want to meet up for lunch during that break of yours?”

“Always willing to spend time with my favorite capital.”

“I wasn't aware that there were others.”

“Not only do I keep my family secret from my friends and colleagues, I have a secret family kept secret from my family.” He grinned at her. There was a loud coughing from somewhere in the room as someone tried to cover a laugh.

Washington District looked unimpressed, but he could still see that almost-smile no matter how she did her best to hide it. He knew his kids. “Now _that_ would be impressive, all things considered. I'll see you shortly after eleven, then?”

“Yeah, meet you outside the building. See you later, Abby-girl.”

The look she gave him was _distinctly_ unimpressed, then, but he just flashed another grin and went back to his work as she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if I like the ending of this fic, but that's the end of it.
> 
> There will be a follow-up, at some point, involving the States crashing in on meetings and things now that they can get away with it, but FIRST THINGS FIRST. **I'm writing a story set in this 'verse for National Novel Writing Month.** It's going to need to be finished and then edited, and likely won't be up until the New Year, but that project is going to be taking up most of my time. That means the follow-up to this fic is way off in the future, and _What's in a Name_ and aren't going to get as many updates.
> 
> But hey. I'm looking forward to posting the final product. It's gonna be interesting.
> 
> As always, thank you folks for reading and commenting and sticking with me through this <3


End file.
